


A Wolf

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you afraid of Fen’Harel, daughter of Lavellan?” he asks.</p><p>In which Solas hears his other name called out, but it is not a badge of pride in this age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from Tumblr. Anon wanted to see how Solas would react at Lavellan calling the Dread Wolf's name.

The refugees in the Hinterlands are suffering greatly.

No food, no enough blankets to fight the cold night, few stable shelters, and bandits threatening to fall over them any moment.

The food is the first priority right now: the worst cold hasn’t arrived yet, but hunger is always there, more painful than any wind and more unrelenting than a dragon, so that’s what must be fixed first.

The Herald and her companions go look for rams. The hunter of the camp told them there should be some in the hills nearby, but the rebel mages and Templars fighting in the wilderness stopped anyone less equipped than the Inquisition from trying to hunt them.

Except for short - albeit bloody - battles, finding the rams proves to be quite easy and Scarlet is soon grinning excitedly.

She missed this. She missed the thrill of the hunt, the quiet moment before the attack, before sliding the blade into the animal’s throat to minimize the pain and let death come immediately.

She missed the precious meaning hidden behind this act: death that helps life, blood and meat that become sustainment for another living being, soft wool and skin that turn into protection and ingenious crafting.

It reminds her of her life in the clan and her skilled eyes have already found the best parts of the hills where she can hide and better strike from. Her dainty hands, calloused and covered by tiny scars, touch the ground and grass: it’s an old habit, a way to find the trace and discover where the prey walked, even though she can perfectly see the rams.

There are no tall trees here. This is not one of the forests of her childhood and she can’t hide here, just like the animals can’t. She will have to be more stealthy than usual, but there is excitement in that too.

She can’t feel the ground beneath her feet due to the boots she is wearing, but it’s way too cold to remove them and run barefooted in the fields. So she takes out her daggers and jumps into the tall, brown grass, enjoying the sound of crunching leaves, sticks, and hard soil.

Her companions - Solas, Varric, and Cassandra - hesitate before following her. They saw the joy and _freedom_ on her face and thought she wanted to do this alone, but the rams are many and they need to kill a good amount of them to ensure the refugees’ survival.

The rams have spotted them and get nervous, ready to flee. They are focused on Cassandra, whose bulky armor is quite scary to them, and Varric, who can’t stop making noises as he awkwardly runs through the field, his crossbow thumping loudly against his back with every step he takes.

Scarlet disappears behind a wall of smoke and crouches, walking silently until she reaches a ram standing far from the others. It is watching Solas, the only one together with her who is making little to no sound.

He is watching the ram too, standing tall with his staff anchored to the ground. The gem on it shimmers brightly under the sun.

Scarlet stops for a second to admire him. She would never do this if she wasn’t invisible, but since she _is_ \- although the seconds are quickly passing by - she finds the courage to watch him intently.

His eyes are attentive, but kind. It’s like he is studying the ram, returning its inquisitive gaze with respect, his stance calm, although it’s clear he is ready to attack.

The ram seems to know this too, but doesn’t move and it isn’t particularly scared.

Solas looks taller, almost majestic as he stands like that, hand on his staff and robes fluttering in the wind. His long fingers twitch for a moment and the ram’s ears do the same. Solas’ full lips curl into a smile.

He reminds her of something, but she isn’t quite sure of what.

Scarlet blushes. Her heart beats fast again, but for another reason this time, unrelated to the hunt, and it takes her a long while to finally remember where she is and what she has to do.

Holding her breath, she turns to the ram and plunges a dagger deep into its throat with a swift, precise movement. It kills it instantly, just like she wanted, and the ram heavily falls on the ground, staining the grass with its fresh blood.

Her stealth powder comes off and she can be seen again.

“Wonderful job.” Solas compliments her, his smile still there, only bigger, and Scarlet’s blush gets worse.

She wants to hide it, but she also wants to smile back at Solas and so she does, hoping her face won’t get _too_ red.

“I’m sorry, I stole your kill.” she says, but he shakes his head and waves his hand.

“Not at all. I was taking way too much time.” His smile gets somewhat nostalgic. “I fear I am not as good as this as years ago.”

“Well, you distracted it, so in the end we’ve got it all the same.” she chuckles, kneeling next to the ram to start cutting its meat.

In the distance, Varric is shooting arrows at the other animals of the pack, but with little success.

Cassandra is grumbling under her breath, too slow with her heavy armor and shield to successfully reach a ram in time and kill it before it flees.

“Varric!” Scarlet shouts, noticing the way he is aiming his arrows. “Don’t make them suffer! Aim for the throat!”

“The _throat_?” the dwarf exclaims, widening his eyes. “How am I supposed to even _see_ their throats when they run like that?”

Just then, a ram rushes about right at his side, making him fall back with a grunt. He shoots a glare at Cassandra, who stops at his feet with an embarrassed expression on her face and a heaving chest.

“Andraste’s ass, Seeker! Don’t make them step over me!”

“I’m sorry.” Cassandra offers sheepishly, then it’s her turn to glare and she does it with incredible ease and expertise. “Don’t swear, dwarf. That is hardly appropriate, especially in this situation.”

“Creators.” Scarlet groans, going back to the killed ram - the _only one_ they managed to kill until now - and leaving the other two companions to their bickering. “This will take the whole day.”

“I assume they never hunted before.” Solas says, sitting at her side and watching her carefully skin the animal with her Dalish knife. “… That is a nice knife.”

A warm smile, nostalgic as Solas’ before, makes two dimples appear on Scarlet’s face.

“Thank you. It was my father’s. He gave it to me before I left for the Conclave.” She raises it to her eyes to admire it.

The handle is made of halla horn, taken from an old, dying halla which kindly accepted its horns to be used after its death. There are leaves and flowers carefully etched on it and the blade is made of precious ironbark.

She tells all of this to Solas, only to realize that he probably already saw this with his own eyes. She blushes again, fearing she offended him and made him believe she doesn’t consider him… cultured. Experienced.

He is much older than her after all. He probably saw things she can’t even imagine, especially in his journeys in the Fade.

He is smiling kindly at her, but she babbles an apology all the same, making him blink surprised.

“I… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that you didn’t recognize the materials! I…” She stops, looking back at the ram, hoping her hair will cover her face and hide her flushed face.

Her freckles always stand out a lot when she blushes, even though some of them are hidden by her _vallaslin_. She isn’t sure they look that good.

But then Solas chuckles and her worries melt away. She is even able to look back at him without feeling too embarrassed.

“It is alright. I didn’t think you were underestimating my knowledge, but that you were sharing beautiful details of your life instead.” His smiles broadens. “You worry too much, daughter of Lavellan.”

She chuckles and nods, then looks away again. Solas looks ( _more_ ) beautiful when he smiles and she doesn’t know what to say or do when he does that.

She never felt like this before, she thinks, her own smile stuck on her face, as she keeps cutting the ram’s meat.

“Do you hunt with your magic?” she asks at a certain point. Solas has been staying at her side for the whole time, watching her, and has paid little attention to what Varric and Cassandra are doing.

“Yes. There are multiple ways of killing preys with magic without ruining their flesh or fur.” He clears his throat and a sidelong glance tells Scarlet that he is scratching his cheek while looking at the ground.

“Also, I use more… ordinary methods too, but I fear I am not as good as you.”

Scarlet lightens up at that. She loves discussing hunting methods! She was one of the best hunters in her clan and right now, while the world goes mad and her hand shines with unknown magic, she clings to any memory and scrap of normalcy she can find.

“Do you use a bow? Daggers?” She gasps, bouncing on her knees. “Oh! Leaves traps?”

Solas raises his eyebrows, smirking, then chuckles again and shakes his head.

“I presume you mean those holes in the ground covered by leaves when you say ‘leaves traps’. No, I do not use those. Mine are even simpler.” He rests a gentle hand upon the dead ram’s muzzle. “I’d say even wild, like an animal hunting another animal.”

“Oh!” Scarlet nods, realization shining on her round face. “That’s what you reminded me of while I was watching you before!”

Another kind of realization dawns upon her only after those words have left her mouth. Solas is smirking again, amused and kind, and she feels like digging a hole in the ground and hiding there forever, Breach be damned.

“I… I mean, before killing the ram! I looked at you _for a moment_ and…”

“And you thought I looked like an animal?” he concludes, his smirk and quirked eyebrow still there, but not mocking, just amused and patient.

“N-No!” Scarlet gasps, then her face falls and she groans. “Yes? But not in a bad way, I swear!”

“It is alright. Animals are pure creatures, devoid of the mischief and wickedness common of people.” His smile is blinding and she can’t help but stare at him. “It was a nice compliment. Thank you.”

“You are welcome… I guess?” she mumbles, eliciting his mirth and another cheerful chuckle, which manages to calm her down a bit, up to the point she can breathe and smile again.

“And what kind of animal did I remind you of?” he asks, scooting closer to her to better help her collect the pieces of meat inside a bag.

It is rare for them to be so physically close: Scarlet’s shyness prevents her from even daring to shorten the distance between her new companions, while Solas signals his desire to not be approached too much with great clarity and she respects that.

This time, though, he has made the first move. His elbow touches hers every time they move, his hands brush against hers as they work on the dead ram, and the wind brings Scarlet’s red hair near his face.

He looks serene and for that Scarlet is happy.

“Well…” she starts, thinking back to the scene she witnessed earlier, with Solas standing in front of the ram and locking eyes with it, as if both busy having a mental conversation of sorts with each other.

She smiles, remembering the animals whose glimpse she would catch while walking through the forests of her childhood.

“You reminded me of…”

A ram runs by just in that moment, knocking her over and making her land heavily on poor Solas, who is able to catch her before they both fall fully on their backs.

“By the Dread Wolf!” she exclaims, before sitting up with a groan. She looks around, sees the frightened ram in the distance, then Varric at the other side of the field, rubbing his neck ashamedly.

Cassandra has dropped her shield and is trying to hit another ram, but they are too fast for her and she turns to Scarlet and Solas to make sure they aren’t watching her.

She blushes and glares when she realizes that the Herald has indeed noticed her problem.

“These beasts are terrible.” the Seeker grumbles, while Varric shouts from afar: “Sorry, Shy! My bad!”

“Fen’Harel’s teeth! I can’t believe you can’t even hunt some rams!” Scarlet sighs, the sound a mix of thin patience, incredulity, and fondness. “Varric, just hit them. Cassandra will make sure to give them a swift death. Solas and I will take care of the rest.”

She turns to Solas, who is still sitting on the grass. He is putting the last pieces of juicy meat inside the bag, his expression unreadable, distant, completely different from the smile he had before.

“Would… would that be alright, Solas?” Scarlet asks, fidgeting, because anxiety always makes her do that. He raises his eyes to her and nods, his mouth twitching, a weak attempt at smiling again.

The rest of the day proceeds like that. Solas seems lost in thought and barely speaks, focusing entirely on killing the rams with just one powerful spell, while Varric and Cassandra team up to kill their own.

Scarlet works quickly, but distractedly: she often turns to Solas to see if he is feeling better.

Because she knows he is feeling _bad_. They don’t know each other since long, but she has learned her companions’ reactions and usual behavior quite soon. She can recognize their quirks, their mirth, anger, sadness. She knows their distinguishing traits.

And right now, she knows something isn’t alright, that Solas is deeply bothered by… by what?

She tries to understand, to remember what she did or said, but can’t find anything in her memory that could have upset him so much. Maybe he is just tired or thought about something sad from his past?

Sometimes, he looks deeply _haunted_ , although it lasts only a few moments.

The sky is getting dark and full of stars by the time they have collected the right amount of meat.

They are all gathered around the last killed ram, Scarlet skinning it with precision and celerity while the others watch her or control the surroundings.

“That name you mentioned before…” Varric starts, leaning on his beloved crossbow. “That… Dread Wolf thing. Who is that? A Dalish friend of mine used to call his name all the time during battle.”

“Oh.” Scarlet blushes. She usually isn’t one to swear and she always made sure not to call the Creators’ names in vain, not even Fen’Harel’s, although his name has been used as a curse since the dawn of time. She will pray to him later, asking for his forgiveness, to avoid having nightmares.

“He’s the Dalish god of misfortune and betrayal.” she explains, cutting a muscle with her sharp knife. “He tricked the other gods and sealed them in the Beyond. We respect him, but… he is different from the rest of the pantheon, I guess.”

“So he’s like… the god that you try to appease with offerings so he won’t come bite your ass?” the dwarf continues, frowning. He rummages into his deep pockets and retrieves a worn leather journal and a long piece of charcoal.

“More or less, yes.” Scarlet chuckles, a bit nervous. Keeper Deshanna would get very mad if she heard her talk like this about their gods.

She glances at the dwarf and sees him write down notes. “Are you planning to use Dalish culture for one of your books?”

“As inspiration! I’m not an expert about it and I don’t want to get things wrong.” Varric hums, scratching his beardless chin. “No idea how I can use a character like this, though… Any idea, Shy? Chuckles?”

Scarlet immediately looks up at Solas. He is standing at her right, stiff and even more distant than before. She has the impression that if someone dared to touch him, he would either break into million pieces or lash out.

“I cannot imagine.” he answers coldly, but not impolitely. Varric doesn’t seem to notice.

“I guess I’d go for a villain figure, then.” the dwarf sighs and Scarlet sees the disappointment and _hurt_ on Solas’ face. They disappear after only two short breaths, but she saw them perfectly, while Varric, distracted by an impatient Cassandra, is worried about other things.

“It’s getting late and we are here discussing books and villains.” the Seeker sighs, looking at the dark sky with disapproval. “We should hurry and get back to the crossroads.”

“You are right!”

Scarlet hurriedly tosses the last pieces of meat inside the now heavy and blood-drenched bag and bows her head, murmuring a quick prayer of thanks to Andruil.

Cassandra and Varric don’t comment, used to her Dalish ways, but Solas tenses up so much he looks more like a statue than a living being at this point.

He never seemed bothered by her Dalish customs, even though he made clear his opinion of them the first time they talked. Still, he never mocked her, never looked at her with derision; he actually asked her some innocent and curious questions and Scarlet asked hers in return.

Now he looks terribly pensive, lost in dark thoughts and memories full of hurt, and Scarlet understands it’s been her fault and that her words, for whatever reason, caused him to feel like this.

Before apologizing to the Dread Wolf, she will apologize to him, she decides.

They give the meat to the hunter in the crossroads, ensuring a month of full bellies to the grateful and tearful refugees.

“The Inquisition will come back soon to keep the supply of food steady.” Scarlet promises, possible ideas to accomplish that already forming in her mind. She will need to discuss them with Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine later. She is sure they can do something about it.

The refugees bless her and her name and her shyness comes back, together with the heavy weight of the title they forcefully bestowed upon her.

She is able to shake it off somewhat once they have reached the Inquisition camp on the nearby hills. Harding is there, checking the perimeter, and she joins them at dinner, sharing stories and surprising them all with her incredibly detailed maps.

She and Cassandra move to the requisitions table while Varric gains more ideas for his story by the guards patrolling the area. Scarlet and Solas are left alone near the fire, the bowls of soup still in their hands.

He is staring at the flame in complete silence. The fire draws shadows on his face, golden and orange hues dance in his eyes, and Scarlet watch him like she did before that day, admiring his features and the depth of his gaze.

Then she blushes and looks down, feeling bad again. He doesn’t look cheerful and happy and mirthful anymore. She hurt him somehow and she needs to - wants to - fix this.

“Mh.” she says, not a word, more like a sound to catch his attention. He doesn’t turn his head, he doesn’t even blink, and she bites her lips, hesitates, then quickly taps his arm.

Solas’ head snaps in her direction in less than a second and she squeals.

“Yes?” he asks. He doesn’t look annoyed or angry, just a bit tired and still so, so thoughtful, as if his whole head was filled with nasty thoughts and heavy scenes.

“I… I wanted to apologize.”

His face does change now. He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, speechless. She is fidgeting again, the empty bowl resting on her lap.

“I hurt you with my words before, for whatever reason. I noticed it and I’m sorry for that.”

She traces the brim of the bowl with her fingers, searching for the right words to continue.

Next to her, Solas’ body feels warmer than the fire.

“Was it because I mentioned the Dread Wolf?” She lifts her head and sees that he is watching her with a tender look, akin to affection. She panics, her cheeks flushed red again.

“I… I usually don’t swear like that.”

“I was merely thinking.” he answers quietly. “I am sorry for having worried you. I tend to get quiet when I am lost in thought. I… was pondering over many things.”

She knows it isn’t exactly like that, but she doesn’t insist. Solas seems to be keeping many secrets and much pain in his heart.

He waits for a few moments, then glances at her.

“Are you afraid of Fen’Harel, daughter of Lavellan?” he asks. The hurt is gone from his eyes and only a deep melancholy, mixed with that soft look and curiosity, remain.

“Well… A little, I think. It’s more like awe for a capricious god. Dalish legends say he is a malicious trickster.”

She remembers the Keeper’s teachings and her fear, back when she was a child, every time she passed by the Dread Wolf statue of the camp. She sighs thinking about that.

“We pray to him and we offer him flowers and food, but only to keep him calm and far from ourselves. The Keeper told us that’s the best way to deal with him.”

Scarlet hesitates for a second, before asking, curiosity creeping into her voice: “You… You think he might be different than that?”

Solas looks stunned now, as if he wasn’t expecting such a question.

Then he looks pleased, almost _relieved_ , and a smile finally returns on his face. Relief fills Scarlet’s heart too and it skips a beat when Solas puts his bowl on the bench and scoots closer to her.

“You are willing to doubt, then? To accept different opinions and ideas about the Dalish lore without…”

“Without getting mad?” she concludes for him, smirking, then sighs and places her hands on the bench, careful not to let the bowl fall from her lap.

“Solas, we Dalish usually don’t refuse to acknowledge different theories. We know it’s hard to find the truth among all the scraps of history we dig out.”

Solas looks sad again for a moment and his eyes move to the fire.

“The Dalish I met were not like that.”

“And I am sorry for that.”  Scarlet rests her hand on his arm, a delicate, feather-light touch that makes him smile and look at her again. She hopes her blush isn’t too well visible.

“If you have any theory you’d like to discuss, I’m all ears.” She giggles. “Literally.”

Solas snorts and a glowing blush tints his face as well while he looks at her in that odd, tender, _beautiful_ way. Then he clears his throat and casts his eyes down, this time without sadness.

“I believe Fen’Harel might be a misunderstood being.” he says, so softly Scarlet can barely hear him over the crackling of the fire. “He must have had a reason to do what he did.”

“That would be a nice thing to discover.” she agrees, stretching her legs out and rubbing her thumbs on the brim of the bowl. “Dalish legends say he locked the other gods away out of spite and malice, but plain wickedness is… boring and doesn’t make much sense. People aren’t just inherently evil.”

She realizes Solas is staring at her again. His smile is surprised and his eyes filled with admiration.

“But according to the Dalish, he is a god too.” he murmurs. “Do you think gods are similar to mortal beings then? That they cannot be inherently evil just like mortals cannot?”

Scarlet shuffles on the bench, pondering over his question. It almost sounds like he is… testing her or wants to see how far she can go.

“The Keeper said the Creators are gods.” she replies softly, scared by those sudden considerations she is making, but also intrigued by Solas’ questions and line of logic, by his reasoning. “I mean, our legends describe them as such. Sometimes they _do_ sound like us, though.”

She frowns and makes a frustrated noise, eliciting kind chuckles from Solas.

“It is alright. Perhaps our future journeys in the waking world will shed light on this.” He clasps his hands on his lap and adds: “My journeys in the Fade showed me glimpses of another truth, but they were… vague.”

“That’s why you believe things are different and you got… so pensive before?” she asks and Solas nods, although he looks a little embarrassed. Scarlet lightens up and gasps.

“Do you think we might come across elven ruins in the future? Oh, it would be fantastic! I’d love to go back to my clan with more information about our lore! Reliable information! With true, tangible relics!”

She sighs and raises her eyes to the sky, watching the stars and the sparks of embers coming up from the fire with deep homesickness written all over her face.

“Provided I’ll be able to go back to my clan. Things are getting… weird.”

Solas chuckles again.

“That would be an euphemism, my friend.”

“Ah-ha. Very funny.” she laughs, gently shoving him and making him laugh hard as well.

Then her shyness reminds her that it’s still there and she blurts out: “I like talking with you, Solas.”

He looks shocked, as if nobody ever told him that. His face is beetle red, and not because of the fire, and his lips curl into a shaky, flattered smile which he tries to hide by looking at his feet.

“Thank you.” he says, then after a second he raises his head again and adds: “I like talking with you as well.”

“Then… can we do this more often?” She is going to combust, explode, _implode_. She isn’t used to this, she never did this before, and it’s clear Solas is as flustered as her.

But this is thrilling, it feels good, _great_ , and she loves the way Solas smile and sadness disappear from his eyes. He helps her feel less lonely and she hopes she will be able to do the same with him.

“Of course. I’d love to.” He rests his hand on her arm like she did before and keeps it there for a moment. “Thank you, Scarlet.”

They smile at each other and go back to look at the fire. Warmth spreads from Scarlet’s arm to her chest and she politely asks Solas questions about magic, enjoying the sight of him beaming at her and describing the theory behind the spells with child-like enthusiasm.

She knows he has been misunderstood a lot in the past. He isn’t used to people asking him to discuss Fade and magic. He isn’t used to people talking to him in a polite way _at all_ and a pang of hurt and sorrow hits Scarlet’s heart.

He still reminds her of the same animal she thought about earlier that day, but in a different context this time. If during the hunt he looked ready to strike and hit the prey, now he resembles a calm, happy creature relaxing in its den.

She wonders if he is able to shapeshift. He would be a marvelous wolf.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Solas needs more hugs. ;_; It must not be easy to hear your nickname used as a curse and hear you bring bad luck and want to eat children at night. Especially when you actually sacrificed everything to save your people. ALL THE HUGS. 
> 
> The long look Solas shares with the ram is actually based on the look wolves share with their preys: [Barry Lopez](https://books.google.it/books?id=YeiU2OnJKaUC&pg=PA94&lpg=PA94&dq=wolf+death+conversation&source=bl&ots=X04eNIzHRj&sig=hz24XhdtREcPtuRftnu_YtE18-w&hl=it&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiXnNnevZTOAhVKIsAKHay5BQUQ6AEIKzAC#v=onepage&q=wolf%20death%20conversation&f=false) calls it a "a conversation of death", where the prey "accepts" to die. In return the wolf will "respect" its meat and will gain strength from it, while also respecting the prey's spirit. It's a "ceremonial exchange", a sacred ritual, that does not happen with domestic stock. 
> 
> Solavellan prompted me read books about wolves, I AM TOO DEEP TO TURN BACK NOW. Also, here is my [Scarlet Lavellan](http://lafaiette.tumblr.com/scarletlavellan). ( ´ ▽ ` )


End file.
